Agatha Christie - Murder is Easy

The side door opened and Ellsworthy stepped in, switching on a hall light as he did so. As he passed along the hall, Luke saw his face and caught his breath. It was unrecognizable. The eyes were alight with a strange mad exultation, but what caused Luke to catch his breath was the sight of Ellsworthy's hands. They were stained a deep brownish red, the color of dried blood. He disappeared up the stairs. A moment later the light in the hall was extinguished.

Luke waited a little longer, then very cautiously he crept out into the hall, made his way to the scullery and left by the window. He looked up at the house, but it was dark and silent. He drew a deep breath. "The fellow's mad all right!" he said. "I wonder what he's been up to? I'll swear that was blood on his hands!"

He made a detour round the village and returned to Ashe Manor by a roundabout route. It was as he was turning into the side lane that a sudden rustle of leaves wrapped in a dark cloak came out from the shadow of a tree. It looked so eerie that Luke felt his heart miss a beat. Then he recognized the long pale face under the hood. "Bridget? How you startled me!"

She said sharply, "Where have you been? I saw you go out."

"And you followed me?"

"No. You'd gone too far. I've been waiting till you came back."

"That was a silly thing to do," Luke grumbled."

She repeated her question impatiently, "Where have you been?"

Luke said gaily, "Raiding our Mr. Ellsworthy."

Bridget caught her breath. "Did you — find anything?"

"I don't know. I know a bit more about the swine's tastes, and all that — and there are three things that might be suggestive."

She listened attentively as he recounted the result of his search. "It's very slight evidence, though," he ended. "But, Bridget, just as I was leaving, Ellsworthy came back. And I tell you this — the man's as mad as a hatter!"

"You really think so?"

"I saw his face! It was — unspeakable! God knows what he'd been up to! He was in a delirium of mad excitement. And his hands were stained, I'll swear, with blood."

Bridget shivered. "Horrible," she murmured.

Luke said irritably, "You shouldn't have come out by yourself, Bridget. It was absolute madness. Somebody might have knocked you on the head."

She laughed shakily. "The same applies to you, my dear."

"I can look after myself."

"I'm pretty good at taking care of myself, too. Hardboiled, I should think you'd call me."

A sharp gust of wind came. Luke said suddenly, "Take off that hood thing."

"Why?"

With an unexpected movement, he snatched at her cloak and whipped it away. The wind caught her hair and blew it out straight up from her head. She stared at him, her breath coming fast. Luke said, "You certainly are incomplete without a broomstick, Bridget. That's how I saw you first."

He stared a minute longer, and said, "You're a cruel devil." With a sharp impatient sigh, he tossed the cloak back to her. "There; put it on. Let's go home."

"Wait."

"Why?"

She came up to him. She spoke in a low, rather breathless voice. "Because I've got something to say to you. That's partly why I waited for you here, outside the Manor. I want to say it to you now, before we go inside into Gordon's property."

"Well?"

She gave a short, rather bitter laugh. "Oh, it's quite simple. You win, Luke. That's all."

He said sharply, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've given up the idea of being Lady Easterfield."

He took a step nearer. "Is that true?" he demanded.

"Yes, Luke."

"You'll marry me?"

"Yes."

"Why, I wonder."

"I don't know. You say such beastly things to me, and I seem to like it."

He took her in his arms and kissed her.

He said, "It's a mad world."

"Are you happy, Luke?"

"Not particularly."

"Do you think you'll ever be happy with me?"

"I don't know. I'll risk it."

"Yes, that's what I feel."

He slipped his arm through hers. "We're rather queer about all this, my sweet. Come along. Perhaps we shall be more normal in the morning."

"Yes. It's rather frightening the way things happen to one." She looked down and tugged him to a standstill. "Luke — Luke, what's that?"

The moon had come out from the clouds. Luke looked down to where Bridget's shoe trembled by a huddled mass. With a startled exclamation, he dragged his arm free and knelt down. He looked from the shapeless heap to the gatepost above. The pineapple was gone. He stood up at last. Bridget was standing, her hands pressed together on her mouth. He said, "It's the chauffeur — Rivers. He's dead."

"That beastly stone thing — it's been loose for some time. I suppose it blew down on him."

Luke shook his head. "The wind wouldn't do a thing like that. Oh, that's what it's meant to look like, that is what it's meant to be — another accident! But it's a fake. It's the killer again."

"No; no, Luke!"

"I tell you it is. Do you know what I felt on the back of his head, in with the stickiness and mess — grains of sand. There's no sand about here. I tell you, Bridget, somebody stood here and slugged him as he came through the gate back to his cottage. Then they laid him down and rolled that pineapple thing down on top of him."

Bridget said faintly, "Luke, there's blood — on your hands!"

Luke said grimly, "There was blood on someone else's hands. Do you know what I was thinking this afternoon? That if there were to be one more crime, we'd surely know. And we do know! Ellsworthy! He was out tonight, and he came in with blood on his hands, capering and prancing and mad — drunk with the homicidal maniac's exultation."

Looking down, Bridget shivered and said in a low voice, "Poor Rivers."

Luke said pityingly, "Yes, poor fellow. It's damnable bad luck. But this will be the last, Bridget! Now we know, we'll get him!"

He saw her sway, and in two steps he had caught her in his arms. She said, in a small, childlike voice, "Luke, I'm frightened."

He said, "It's all over darling. It's all over."

She murmured, "Be kind to me, please. I've been hurt so much."

He said, "We've hurt each other. We won't do that any more."

Doctor Thomas stared across his consulting-room desk at Luke. "Remarkable," he said. "Remarkable! You are really serious, Mr. Fitzwilliam?"

"Absolutely. I am convinced that Ellsworthy is a dangerous maniac."

"I have not paid special attention to the man. I should say, though, that he is possibly an abnormal type."

"I'd go a good deal farther than that," said Luke grimly.

"You seriously believe that this man. Rivers, was murdered?"

"I do. You noticed the grains of sand in the wound?"

Doctor Thomas nodded. "I looked out for them after your statement. I am bound to say that you were correct."

"That makes it clear, does it not, that the accident was faked and that the man was killed by a blow from a sandbag, or at any rate was stunned by one?"

"Not necessarily."

"What do you mean?"

Doctor Thomas leaned back and joined his finger tips together. "Supposing that this man Rivers had been lying out in a sand pit during the day — there are several about in this part of the world. That might account for grains of sand in the hair."

"Man, I tell you he was murdered!"

"You may tell me so," said Doctor Thomas dryly; "but that doesn't make it a fact."

Luke controlled his exasperation. "I suppose you don't believe a word of what I'm telling you."

Doctor Thomas smiled, a kindly superior smile. "You must admit, Mr. Fitzwilliam, that it's rather a wild story. You assert that this man Ellsworthy has killed a servant girl, a small boy, a drunken publican, my own partner, and finally this man Rivers."

"You don't believe it?"